It's Good to be The Gun
by denise1
Summary: A silly point of view - set during It's Good to be the King


IT'S GOOD TO BE KING

It's Good to be the Gun

By

Denise

I rest in my home, contentedly swinging along as my master walks. Sunshine warms my back while fresh air swirls around my front.

This is how it used to be. We used to venture out more, my master and me.

At the time, I was not always happy with our adventures. Quite often, we were cold or wet. Other times, it was so hot that the sun tortured me, working to fade my hard won patina and scratch my smooth, oiled surface.

We struggled together, my master and me. For all the trials during the day, we would have our time together each night. He would hold me, caress me. Use his strong calloused hands to clean away the attacks of the sun and air.

He would spend hours polishing out every nick or scratch.

At night, I would rest at his side, tucked next to the warmth of his body. Often, his hand would hold me, keeping me close, keeping me safe.

It has been a long time since that has happened.

For many months, my master was gone. I know this because he left me in our home. I remember him gently laying me in the drawer beside his bed. He slowly dragged his fingers over my barrel and I knew that he was saying goodbye.

I stayed there for such a long time. The house was quiet and still. Occasionally, his friends would come over. They would sit and talk. One of them would clean the house. I would hear them mowing the lawn. But they would never visit me. I don't know if it's because they didn't know I was there, or because they didn't care.

Dust began to dull my once shiny surface and I started to feel ashamed, abandoned.

I wondered if I'd done something wrong. Had I angered my master somehow? Forced him to move on, to leave me behind? Surely, if he were dead, I would be passed on. That is the way of things.

Then, on a truly wondrous day, he returned. He came back, retrieved me from my drawer and took me into his hands. He carried me into our living room and treated me to a good, thorough cleaning.

I knew that all was right with the world again because my master was back.

We went back to the SGC, but things had changed now. I did not return to my customary place in the armory, but instead I resided in another drawer during the day.

This drawer was nicer than the desk I was used to. It was made of sweet smelling wood and full of important papers.

His job was different now, slower but just as difficult. He was tenser, more stressed. I could feel it in his hands when he retrieved me from the drawer each night. He was tired and worried, the weight of the new insignia on his shoulders weighing him down more than his gear ever had.

But that changed a few hours ago when she called. They needed him, needed him out of his office and through the Stargate.

There was a spring in his step as he eagerly briefed his stand in. He was impatient, but it was impatience stemming from enthusiasm instead of boredom.

I shared his joy at again getting out into the field. How long I had longed to leave the controlled atmosphere of the SGC and to again feel the warmth of an alien sun. To again explore and experience the wonders of a new world.

I find that I do not even mind being in the company of Harry Maybourne. I wonder if he still bears the scars from my bullet?

My master squats down and I am jostled in my holster. "I'm just not that familiar with Ancient technology. I need a little time." I hear Carter say. I've missed her voice, as I have the rest of my master's friends. Sometimes I hear them, muffled through the heavy oak of the desk drawer. But I rarely see them. Each night when my master takes me home, they are already gone. Each morning, they have yet to arrive.

"That is one thing I can't give you, Carter," my master says, digging through his pack.

"You can't be serious," Daniel Jackson protests. Both of our friends are here, showing my master the ship they've discovered. It is a strange ship. I am dually drawn to it and set ill at ease. There is something different here. Something both fascinating and terrifying.

"Sir, this technology is too valuable to lose," Carter protests.

"Carter, what do you want me to do? Call in reinforcements? It's not like we're throwing down with a couple of Jaffa. We're taking on a System Lord and his band of merry bad guys. Inside and out, I want that thing gone," he declares, his tone official and commanding. He has gotten better at that in recent months, I think it is because of practice. Many more people come to him now, depending on him to make decisions and choices.

I hear a noise and I try to warn my master. I feel him rise as hands grab me from my holster. No. Wait. This is not my master. Someone else has taken me from him.

Who dares to take me from my master? This is wrong. This is bad. Put me down! Give me back to my master.

I don't like when this happens, when strangers take me from my master. They are rarely kind and often abuse me. They shake me and hold me wrong. Sometimes they take me away from him and I am alone. I don't like being alone.

Sensations flood through me and I realize that this is different. These are no stranger's hands, they are Carter's. They're smaller than my master's, but just as strong. They wrap confidently around my back and one finger rests easily upon my trigger.

Her skin is smoother, softer than my masters. Her hand is not clumsy, but one used to intricate movements. She holds me steady and straight, aiming me directly at the threat. She will use me to defend my master and herself and I find that her grip is not an onerous one.

Words wash over me as she continues to hold me tight. Her thumb lingers upon my safety, brushing it gently.

She is tense and her palms sweat slightly, but her grip never wavers.

In a few moments, the tension eases and I watch my master lower his weapon, accepting the words of the aliens. "God, I miss going offworld!" my master declares and I do agree with him. This is so much more fascinating than simply residing amongst papers and secrets.

He steps forward, fulfilling his promise to discuss things with King Archon. After a couple of steps, he stops, turning to face Carter. "Carter, can I have my gun back?" he asks, holding out his hand.

"Oh, sorry," she apologizes, wrapping her fingers around my barrel and releasing her grip on my back. A sensation washes over me. It reminds me of how I feel after my master gives me a through cleaning. I feel special, wanted, appreciated. My master grabs my back, gently taking me from her hand and I feel a momentary sense of loss.

"You know, if you ever want to get your hands on my sidearm again, all you need to do is ask," he says, returning me to my holster.

"Really?" she asks, her tone teasing.

"It's just right here, the next time you feel like helping yourself." He pats my back reassuringly and I wonder if she will ever take him up on his offer.

"I'll remember that," she replied, shaking her head slightly.

We fell into step beside her and I was again swinging in my holster. I don't think I would mind if she ever accepted his invitation. Some days, it is indeed good to be the gun.

Fin


End file.
